


and they'll tell our story like it's a tragedy

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Anxiety, Depression, Gen, Ghosts, Haunting, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, The Ghost of Connor Murphy Back in Action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 13:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13590672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: "You know, Hansen," Connor says in a whisper, and Evan closes his eyes, chantsyou’re dead you’re dead you’re deadin his mind until he’s shuddering. "You could forget it all.".Connor tells Evan a lot of stories. This isn’t a happy one.





	and they'll tell our story like it's a tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: as summary says, this is not a happy story. Read the tags. This is a Dark fic. If you are already on the brink, do NOT proceed. 
> 
> Anyway, take this idea inspired by this amazing fanart (linked through my blog 'cause the original blog was deleted, but the artist can still be found through the link): https://rhymesofblue.tumblr.com/tagged/kind-of-want-to-write.....
> 
> I've had small pieces of this saved from last year, but finally got around to editing and adding and now I really like it. I own nothing, hope you enjoy!

Connor’s ghost says a lot, Evan learns.

Evan listens to every passing comment that echoes through his mind, every joke, every injustice, and every movement that plays on rewind in his head.

Connor’s ghost talks, and Evan listens.

.

"You know, Hansen," Connor says in a whisper, and Evan closes his eyes, chants _you’re dead you’re dead you’re dead_ in his mind until he’s shuddering. He feels when Connor leans forward brushes an arm against his, and it only makes him sob harder.

"You could forget it all,” Connor’s voice lulls, “The orchard, the Connor Project. The people who left you and the ones you let down. You could change it all, if you wanted."

Conner reaches for his hand and squeezes it. Evan snaps his eyes open and stares at the small grin beginning to spread across Connor's face. His sobs slow to hiccups.

Connor continues, "You wouldn't have to deal with any of it anymore. No more crying in corners, or hiding in the bathroom during lunch.”

Evan’s hiccups quiet, and Connor’s eyes _shine_ .  
  
"It’s easy. All you have to do,” Connor says, one hand lightly brushing over Evan’s, the other wiping away the remnants of Evan’s tear trail, “is climb a little bit higher."  
  
.

Evan doesn’t know why he goes to Connor’s funeral.

Jared says he has to if he really wants to ‘ _sell the act’,_ but that’s not the true reason he shows. Evan knows he didn’t come to play up the act, solely to pay respects, or to say sorry in any other way than speaking it. His reason has a darker tinge to it, and he pushes it the the back of his mind.

He texts his mom to tell her where he’ll be for the next few hours. Signs it with a smiley face and heart. She doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t talk to anyone. Listens to the Reverend give Connor his final blessings, and watches Mrs. Murphy cry into her husband’s shoulder out of the corner of his eye. Zoe stands in front of her parent, eyes empty and completely motionless as they bring out her brother’s casket. She doesn’t shed a tear, but Evan knows that doesn’t mean she isn’t grieving.

There are more people than he expected. Not so many kids from school, as to be expected, but plenty of adults and kids his age he doesn’t recognize. Either extended family or family friends. He already knows none of them were friends with Connor. He doesn’t need a ghost whispering over his shoulder to recognize discomfort and distance.

He knows he has no room to talk about distance or apathy, but his hands are shaking and he feels like he’s going to throw up because suddenly it, all of it, is too much.

Evan watches as they lower the casket into the ground, doesn’t let himself think about how that’s _Connor’s_ body in there- Connor who pushed him in the hall. Connor who through the printer at a teacher in third grade. Connor who’s voice he can’t stop hearing in his head.

Connor whose funeral is just as miserable and uncomfortable as he was.

People toss in flowers, cover the casket with them before it’s covered in dirt, and offer condolences.

Connor’s family doesn’t move, just stands and- watches. It all feels, off. Wrong, somehow. Like Connor isn’t dead, but he is and none of it feels right.

Evan closes his eyes and bows his head for the final blessing. In the wind, he can hear Connor’s laugh behind him.

.  
  
"I thought- I thought I was getting better," Evan whispers, thinks about the pills that don’t work, the quiet therapy sessions, and knows it isn’t true but forcing belief worked before.

( _Liar)_

Connor's smile softens with the lines around his eyes, and Evan can’t breathe.  
  
"You are." Connor says, looking down and Evan follows his stare. The ground is so far down, the tree is so tall, and the wind is relentless: _pushing pushing pushing_ while the ground won't stop pulling, and the branch begins to shake beneath his feet.  
  
"You are getting better, Evan," Connor assures him, takes his hand, still smiling, "this is just the next step."

.

The Connor project - it’s cover-up and humiliation - was inevitable, Jared argues, after.  

“It was always going to fail,” Jared says, shrugging like their names haven’t been ruined- any social standing decimated, and labeled even bigger freaks for faking friendship with a dead kid.

Neither of them address their argument in the fallout. It’s acknowledged, but nothing further. They fall back into each other’s orbit because in the end, they’re what’s left of the fallout.

“Inevitability, and all that.” Jared adds, making a slight hand gesture and takes another spoonful of ice cream. “Somethings are destined to just, fail. Some things are just broken before they begin I guess.”

Evan just nods, picks at his ice cream, and thinks _gateway_ every time Jared says inevitable.

Jared turns back to the Television, and Evan feels Connor’s hands running through his hair.

He takes a breath.

.

“You've done it before, Hansen,” Connor says, and his voice is warm breath on Evan’s ear, a smirk curling around it at the edges- sharp and cold and dangerous where Evan doesn’t want to see it, and the chills running down his spine are mild enough to blame on the wind. Cold hands find their placement on his back.

“You can do this, Evan. You've done it before. All you gotta do is just-” Connor steps around him on the branch until he's standing before Evan, small smile in place and shadowed by the long curls of hair being blown by the wind into his face, and spreads his arms out like wings, _tilts-_ “fall.”

And Evan - looks past Connor and feels the breeze pick up until it's nearly pushing him off the branch but he doesn't let go yet, not when the ground is so far and the sky so close and the cold chill still runs across his neck every time Connor looks at him - wonders what he’ll look like, laughing and crying and twisting and still so damn cold, on the way down.

.

After the rise and fall of the Connor project, of playing the perfect son to the Murphy’s with Connor’s voice singing in his ear all the while, his mom looks at him like he’s a stranger.

A different kid wearing the skin of her son.

Evan wants to be cruel. Wants to tell her she doesn’t have a right to be surprised, it’s not like she’s around enough to know anything about him. He wants to be cutting, say she wouldn’t recognize her own kid if he were splattered beneath a pine tree. That she wouldn’t even know where to find him because she doesn’t _answer her damn cellphone,_ but he doesn’t.

Heidi cooks dinner and they eat in silence until she leaves for her night shift with a promise to be back soon, that she loves him, and then they’ll “spend the weekend together” as if she isn’t thoroughly disgusted and confused by the thing taking the form of her son.

After the door shuts Evan’s still at the table, drowning in the silence. He doesn’t remember the last time he came up for air.

“At least your Mom said she loves you.” Connor says, wryly, taking Heidi's chair, “can’t remember the last time my Mom said anything close.”

Evan doesn’t cry. That’s important, he thinks, that he didn’t _cry_.

.

Connor’s laughing. But it’s not cruel, or mean or at Evan’s expense. Connor is laughing and he sounds- happy. _Joyful_ , full of life almost, and the irony is striking.

“Come on, Hansen,” Connor says, and he’s _smiling_ , “I don’t have all day.”

Evan looks down, looks past stray branches, watches the ground twist and swirl too far down. Further down than the first time, higher up and the wind blows through his hair, shakes the branch.

“Okay,” Evan says, licks his lips, closes his eyes. Remembers unanswered text messages, distance, the fear of ruining it all, being a disappointment. Recalls sorrow and how deep down it goes. How fear plants its roots and spreads into nervousness and hesitance.

The wind blows again, and shakes the branch he’s grasping. Then Connor’s behind him, breath on the back of his neck, “Ready?”

.

Zoe Murphy doesn’t glance at him once. Of course he doesn’t blame her, doesn’t expect her to understand or sympathize, but he still expects some sort of anger.

He expects the rage of Zoe Murphy to burn him up from the inside out. He expects Zoe to burn where Connor is freezing. Evan expects guilt trips, furious looks, disgust and repulsion. He expects physical aggression, even. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.

What he doesn’t expect is what he gets: Zoe Murphy, blue streaks washed out and eyes faded, enclosed.

Her body dragging where it was pulling before, no longer a gravitational center but a piece of debris floating in it. She looks worse now than after Connor’s initial death. Connor’s second death took its toll.

Zoe Murphy’s fire is gone.

Evan wonders if it was Connor or him who put it out.

.

Connor’s ghost - voice, spirit, remains - talks, a lot _._ Connor, or whatever is left of him, talks and he  _leeches on_.

Connor takes and takes and Evan-

Evan is so tired of giving.

.

Alana Beck tells him, the last time she makes an effort to speak to him as they pass in the hallway, Connor floating behind her and picking at her hair, “You should be ashamed.”

Her eyes are dark behind her glasses, and she’s the cruelest Evan’s ever seen her.

And well- she’s right. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t burn when she leaves and all he’s left with is Connor whistling in his ear.

.

Connor tells a lot of stories. This isn’t a happy one.

.

Evan stands and leans forward until his only leverage is the branch and his grip on it. He lets the wind guide him forward and smiles at how Connor’s laughter blends into it.

Evan snaps his eyes open, lets the wind pull him like it’s grasping, and-  
  
_falls_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are much appreciated, and I am rhymesofblue on tumblr!


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